“I had no idea of such want of comforts. You may travel for miles and yet meet with scarcely any one whom a Brewhouse Lane pauper would condescend to speak to. I do not complain of their having no shoes and stockings, because that is not their misfortune but their choice, but what few clothes they have are a mere bundle of rags: you see women about in worn-out men’s coats, and the men do not cast them off till no strings can hold them together any longer. And then their cabins! you never saw such places; they generally consist of one room, though sometimes there are two. In the better sort there is a hole in the side by way of a window, but nowhere any glass in it; then there is a large aperture above the fire, which I believe is intended for a chimney, but the smoke decidedly prefers to proceed (after it has spent some time with its masters) by the more fashionable entrance of the door. This is a great convenience, as they smoke all their dried meat on the ceiling instead of in the narrow passage of the chimney. Their furniture consists of perhaps a table, two or three low chairs, a long box which serves for a bed for two or three by night and a seat by day, and a long bench for the younkers. Besides this there is some straw in one corner for those of the family who have no room in the box, and in another for the pigs; a large coop to fat the young chickens in, and some bars across the top which serve to dry the hams on and as roosting poles for the hens. In the third corner they may stow a young lamb, and in the fourth throw a heap of potatoes. I went to a place arranged as I have attempted to describe. At first I could not see for the smoke, but was soon told that if I were to stoop low enough I could breathe if not see; I accordingly sat me down on the low form, and when I was accustomed to the darkness I perceived the form of my hostess, bustling about with no shoes or stockings, and scolding hard at all the little urchins. Then there ensued a conflict with the pig, who could not understand on what grounds he was to be excluded, more especially when he saw the woman pour out a whole pot of hot potatoes on the table, and give a basin of goat’s milk to each of us, which I can assure you that we and the chickens feasted on with no inconsiderable relish. Now for mathematics! “Your most affectionate Son, “EDWARD HOARE.” Men who have not forgotten the sensations of College life will recollect the rapid way in which age accumulates at the University! This comes out amusingly in some of the Killarney letters, _e.g._:—